


Hope's Home

by SanSanFanFan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Other pairings more mentioned in passing, SanSan main relationship, Western AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 07:44:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2684819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanSanFanFan/pseuds/SanSanFanFan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the song Devil's Backbone by the Civil Wars:</p><p>"Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what have I done?<br/>I’ve fallen in love with a man on the run<br/>Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I’m begging you please<br/>Don’t take that sinner from me<br/>Oh don’t take that sinner from me...</p><p>... Oh Lord, Oh Lord, he’s somewhere between<br/>A hangman’s knot, and three mouths to feed<br/>There wasn’t a wrong or a right he could choose<br/>He did what he had to do<br/>Oh he did what he had to do..."</p><p>For the SanSanFanFan birthday gift fic thingy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope's Home

Sansa’s heart was beating fiercely in her chest as she watched him walk in his chains from the sheriff’s office towards the hastily erected wooden scaffold.  His head was down, his hair swinging over it, so she willed him to look at her, to see her before he got to the noose.  But he didn’t.  Even when Pallaton cried out ‘arla, arla’ to him, he would not look towards the crowd.  She gathered the small boy to her, holding him against her skirts with his two sisters. 

Sandor’s feet made heavy booming sounds as he went up the stairs to the noose.  He was roughly shoved up onto the stool beneath it as the priest bleakly intoned the Lord’s Prayer over him.  Sansa half expected Sandor to curse out the balding man.  In the little time she’d known the large man he’d shown little love indeed for her faith and her god.  Although, given his fate this day, how could she now find fault in his constant blasphemies?

Sansa’s eyes turned to the clocktower of the church.  Nearly midday. When the last of the chimes rang they would knock the stool away and send him on his way.  To hell, most in the crowd seemed to think, given their mutterings and cursings.  But they didn’t know this sinner.  They hadn’t met him as Sansa had done, had not fed him and heard his story, not seen him with the three children now tying themselves up in her skirts.  Sansa knew where he was going and it was not hell.

The clock began to chime, and she looked to the far range of mountains above the small town in the wasteland of long grass.  The Devil’s Backbone they called the cragged peaks.  Many other places took claim to that name, but Sansa had another name for those mountains, the range of craggy stone under the blue sky that he and the children had found their way over.  She called them Hope’s Home.

The seventh bell tolled.

***

_Three days earlier…_

Sansa was hanging out the last of her basket of washing when she saw them.  Her fingers were deftly pinning the children’s clothes and sheets with wooden pegs, her voice softly singing her favourite hymn as she worked under the endless Montana sky. But she dropped the sheet as she spotted the small dark shapes running through the long green grass at the end of her land.  Three of them, children.  And running behind them, after them, a large man.

Her eyes went to the flagpole by her house.  Did she have time to get the flag up? Even if she did, they would not make it here in time.  Besides, it was just one man…

She gathered her long tan skirt and ran to the water barrels by the house.  She lifted the lid on the second one along and pulled out the wooden butted rifle, quickly checking it over as she had been shown how to do. Then she was running between the rows of clean washing as they ghosted over her in the winds of the grass plain between the mountains.  As she ran she lost sight of the children, but aimed herself towards the man who loomed over the grasses, a dark shadow with a longer shadow arcing away from the mountains to the East.  As she got closer she shouted at him, putting all the force that she could into the words.  
  
“You there, stop! Stop! Leave those children be!”

He stopped his run, turning towards the woman charging towards him, rifle in her hands.  But he wore a large brimmed had that threw him into yet more shadows and she could not make out his expression.  He went to move again.

“I said stop!” She brought the rifle to her shoulder and targeted him.  “I’ll shoot!”

He drew a pistol from a holster at his thigh, but held it low.

“Fuck off!” He shouted at her, and she bristled at the curse word. “We aint none of yer damn business, girl!”

“It’s my land!”

The three children emerged from the long grass, and Sansa was shocked to see them run to his legs, shouting out ‘arla, arla’ over and over again.  They were such little things.  The youngest girl was no more than two, and then there was an older boy and an older yet girl, but the gaps in age between them were barely anything.  They were dark of skin even through all the dirt on them, there was a warm olive hue to them all, and their hair was black and straight.  Their eyes were the most brilliant emerald green, and so similar to each other that Sansa could only suppose that they were brother and two sisters.  ‘Arla, arla!’ they were screaming now, clinging to the giant of a man.

“What are they saying?!”

“‘Arla’.  It means father… or papa more like.”

“Don’t lie to me!” His skin was white, dirty with days of travelling perhaps, but he was a white man.

“Papa! Papa!” The older girl took up the chant.

“Are they yours? They don’t look like you.”  The man’s face was still partially hidden by the shadows made by the sun behind him, but even for his shaggy long dark hair, she couldn’t believe this white man was related to these beautiful wild creatures.

“Yeah, they’re mine.  Not my blood, but they’re mine!”

“Arla” The oldest girl said, pointing at him.

Sansa lowered the rifle. “But why were you chasing them?”

“We been ahorse for days, they needed to run.  They’re of the Rhoynar tribe north of here.  Greenbloods you’d call them.  Longstriders.  They needed to run.”  He growled out the words.

Sansa looked around. “I don’t see a horse?!”

“Stranger’ll be along, he always finds us.  Now leave us be, girl!”

The boy was tugging at the man’s sleeve. The man looked down at him and he started tapping at his belly.  The other two took up the motion, the girl nodding and saying ‘Hilla, hilla.”

“They’re hungry!”

The man glared at her. 

“I have food.  You can share mine.” She put as much warmth in her voice as she could but it didn’t help much.  The man spat into the long grass and she barely hid her disgust. 

“You alone girl?”

“There’s just me.  Town’s two miles that’a way.  No one will find you here.  You are running aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m an outlaw” he seemed unashamed of it. “Are you certain you wanna to take us in and feed us? Aint you afraid girl? I’ll most like rape and kill you.”

She considered him, looked at the small children who were dirty and hungry, but not malnourished. “No you won’t.  Come now.  I’ve got stew on the range.  And I have clothes for all of you.”

“Why would you help strangers?!”

“Because Our Lord taught us to.”

He spat again, laughing.  “God botherer, shoulda known.”

“Well this ‘god botherer’ wants to help your children.  Are you going to refuse?”

He paused, thinking. “This sinner’s hungry.” He said finally and she nodded.

She walked ahead of them, back towards the low wooden ranch house past the lines of washing.  A spot between her shoulders itched as she remembered that pistol in his hand.  But when the oldest girl skipped up to walk beside her, she knew she was safe from him.  A small hand took hers and she smiled. 

“What’s your name little flower?”

The girl smiled but did not answer.

“They don’t speak much English yet.  Yarlin naen du’a.” He said in their tongue.

“Chenoa es.”

“Chenoa? That’s pretty.  Does it mean anything?”

“Dove.” Said the man abruptly.  He had caught up to them, carrying the smallest of the native children in his arms, the boy walking at his side.  “The boy’s Pallaton, and this little mouse is Salali.”

“And what do those names mean?”

“Pallaton’s ‘warrior’, and Salali is ‘mink’.”

“Well I’m Sansa, though I don’t think that means anything.” She smiled down at Chenoa.

“Sansa” said Chenoa, cautiously sounding out the foreign name. “Sandor! Sandor!”

“Oh, what is she saying now?”

The man’s hoarse voice growled out the answer. “That’s my damned name.”

“Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Sandor.”  She looked over at him.  He slowly removed his hat and nodded to her.  She fought back a gasp as he stood straight again and the severe burns on his face were apparent in the morning sunlight.  She averted her eyes, not wishing to embarrass him.  But he scowled anyway.

They reached the low house, and Sansa brought them all into the kitchen, leaving the rifle in the water barrel. The children immediately clambering over her long table.  She heard a low grumble from a small belly as the smell of the simmering stew greeted them.  Sansa moved to the dresser, taking down the rough earthernware bowls there.  She could sense Sandor checking out the simple room, looking down the corridor to the rooms that branched off of it.

“You weren’t lying, you are alone.  Foolish.  Dangerous.”

“I like it that way.”

He humphed, and took at seat with the tumbling children, setting them properly at the table as she laid out the bowls, before starting to serve the stew with hunks of her homemade bread.  They started to rip into it, but Sandor halted them, allowing her time to sit before they could start again.  But he rolled his eyes as she clasped hands together to give thanks.  The children copied her, bowing their heads as well, but he sneered.

“That ain’t their way.  They’re Rhoynar, not Christians!”

“There’s no harm in giving thanks for a meal.”

His mouth twisted even more, but he said nothing, instead turning to his stew and began eating, noisily.

“Where have you travelled from? There isn’t a reservation for hundreds of miles…”

“North.  We came from the north.  We’re heading south.  That’s all you need to know.”

She nodded.  “You might be right of that.  If you _are_ running I shouldn’t be able to tell them where you’re going.”

He looked at her then, considering her.  “What kind of woman lives alone?”

“I’m a teacher. At the school in town.”

“That aint a fucking answer, girl!”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.” Sansa fought his gruffness and rudeness with a sweet smile. “I can draw a bath after, and you can all get clean. I’ve got clothes here, some for the children and some that might fit you.”

“Men’s clothes? Ah, you’re that kind’o woman!”

She glared at him, and he smirked back at her in answer.

“I am _not_ that kind of woman!”

“Arla, din atta du’a!” Chenoa barked at him, scolding him, it sounded like.

“Pela, pela.”

“What did she say?”

“She told me not to be mean to you.”

“Good advice. And what did you say?”

“I agreed.  I said ‘peace, peace’. It’s kind’a like how we say ‘okay’ but gentler.”

“Are you fluent in their tongue?”

“Pretty much.” He closed down on her, going back to his meal, which he ate with a spoon his that great fist of his.  There was a story there, but she wasn’t going to get it from him now.  She watched as the three small children quickly demolished the stew and then she went and ladled out some more for them.  She’d been making it for the others, but they wouldn’t mind it being put to this use, she was certain. 

“You finish up here. I’ll draw some water from the well for the bath.”

She got up, and for a moment she thought he was going to rise too, as though he were a gentleman from the city and not this rough traveller.  But he didn’t.

In the back yard to the ranch she got quickly to working the pump, drawing out water into steel buckets.  She was surprised that she didn’t hear him approaching until he was by her side, a hand going to hers to grab the bucket from her.

“Here, let me carry those back in.” He carried the buckets as if they weighed nothing at all, lifting them up and walking them quickly to the blackened hearth in the kitchen.  He even tipped the first lot into the kettle there without spilling half of it as she was like to do.

“You’re stronger than you look if you do this for yer self normally.” He looked her over, and she felt an ill-timed blush spreading beneath her shirt and racing towards her face.  His eyes rested on the gold cross at her neck. “Took you fer a fine lady when I first saw you.  But you’ve none of their airs and graces.  Where are you from?”

“No where.  Just here.” She stoked the fire.

“That aint the truth.  I can smell liars, girl.”

“You tell me your story, m’be I’ll tell you mine!”

He growled and said nothing, returning to the table where Chenoa lay her head against him.

“They’re dead on their feet.  After you bathe, you can take my room for them.  And there’s another one for you. Rest up before you need to get going again.”

“We’ll not fucking well impose.”

“It’s no imposition.  But if you swear once more in my house, I’ll get the rifle again!”

He looked about ready to protest, but nodded.  They passed the time before the water was ready with the children playing intricate chanting games with hand gestures she didn’t understand.  But she was enchanted by these small dear creatures.  Even the large man was more agreeable now that he’d learnt to hold his tongue in her house.  They shared some of her home made saspirella which the children liked very much indeed. And then he helped her to pull in the big steel tub and to pour the water into it.  It was not unpleasant, she found, to have an extra pair of hands to help.

He excused himself as she got about bathing them.  Whatever the truth of their ties to each other, he seemed very new to this part of caring for them.  But Sansa laughed loudly the whole way through the bath, enjoying the mess and chaos of it as the three children played noisily in the water as though completely at home in it.  She knew little of the Greenbloods, the Rhoynar, but their reservations were tied to the rivers of their homeland.  Poor things to be heading south away from those homes and those rivers.  What was this Sandor playing at, taking them away from their people?

She dressed them in new clothes, finding pieces that were too big but would do.  They were mostly clothes she bought for the older children of the school who needed them but whose parents were too poor to buy them.  For him what she had was most like too small, but he could see after his bath.  He returned.

“Are you going to scrub my back as well?” She blushed deeply and he looked her over again.  But it felt more as though he was testing her, seeing how far he could push her.

“I’ll get them to bed while you bathe.  There’s clothes and towels.” She swept from the room, not looking to see his reaction to her coldness.

The children looked very sweet tucked up in her bed, and a part of her that she had not considered for a very long time was cracked open to bleed into her heart again.  She sat with them as they drifted into sleep, running her finger tips over that glossy dark hair, now clean and sweet smelling.

“Tallee minook.” Said Chenua before sleep captured the little runner.

She went back to the kitchen, but knocked at the door. She smiled at the strange sensation of having to be polite in her own house.  
  
“I’m done.” He said from the other side.

She entered the kitchen to find him sat at the table again, dressed in some of the clothes she left out, whatever had fit no doubt.

He had a bottle of whiskey in his hand, from his pack no doubt.

“Is this banned in your house too?”

Her lips thinned.  He was mocking her.  Her usual response to alcohol died on her lips and instead she said simply, “Not sharing is banned, that’s true.”

He grinned, surprise clear on his face. “What would Our Lord and Saviour say?!”

“You aren’t a man of faith then?”

She sat opposite him and he poured out a measure into his own glass and slid it to her, keeping the bottle for himself.

“I got faith. Faith in the way of things to go to hell no matter what you do.”  He swigged deeply, and Sansa took a sip of her own.  God, it was strong!

“What does ‘tallee minook’ mean?”

He laughed.  “‘Thank you, pretty lady’. Chenoa’s almost as polite as you, girl.”

“Tell me.” She said, leaning forward, whispering to him, desperate to know. “How did you get here?”

He glowered. “It’ll be a story for a story, girl.”

She nodded, and he leant back in his chair.

“I weren’t lying.  I’m an outlaw.  Aye, a sinner too by any measure.  Ran with my brother and his men north of here.  Doing strong arm jobs for men that needed muscle and not many questions.  A gun in my hand every day and every night since I was ten.”

He drank again, looking at her over the bottle.  “That was good as far as it went.  I had money in my pocket. Whores in my bed-”

He looked for her reaction to that, but she tried to remain stony faced and resolutely unshocked. She wasn’t certain she was successful though.

“Then one time we’re travelling through Rhoynar country, trying to avoid some rangers. Gregor, my brother, sees this squaw out by one of the rivers, hunting.  Beautiful creature.  Wild and fierce.  And he has to have her.  Steals her away.  I aint keen but there’s no arguing with Gregor who’s bigger and meaner than the devil himself.  But over time I’m more than not keen.  Every night I hear her crying and it gets to me.  So one day I killed him.”

She did gasp then, shock hitting her.

“I told you I were a sinner, girl.” He leant forward, his dark eyes holding hers.  “Now you know how much of one.”

“He does not sound to have been a good man…”

“But he was a man.  And it was murder. And there’s no two ways about that in the eyes of your god, and in the eyes of the law neither.”

“And the children? Are they his?”

“No.  After I killed him, I took her back to her people.  Turns out she was a mother already.  The youngest, Salali, was a babe at the breast when Gregor found her mother out on her own.  God only knows why she was alone that day.” He stared at her, his eyes burrowing into her. “God knows why any woman’d be foolish enough to be alone.”

Sansa rankled but she was more interested in his story than his barbed words. “You got her back to her people.”

“Yeah.  There was no husband or mate waiting for her, he’d died before Gregor found her, so maybe that was why she’d been alone that day. They were pleased to have her back though, and they didn’t care about how I looked or what I’d done....  So I stayed with them for a bit, a season or two.  Until the missionaries came.” He spat out the last words. “Until the missionaries brought their god… and cholera.”

Sansa fought back tears that prickled at her eyes.

“Their mother died. But I got them away before they caught the god damned pestilence that wiped out their people.” He glared at her. “And I aint apologising for cursing over that!”

“No.  No, you shouldn’t.” She said quietly.

“And then we travelled south, with Stranger, the horse the menfolk gave me.  Of course, fate and god hate me equally.  So first town we come to there’s a sheriff whose seen Gregor’s gang’s wanted posters.  Mine included.  We been running since.”

He drank again. “We’ll go south, head for the border and get out of here.  We’ll leave whatever time they wake up.”

“You should sleep too.  I can keep watch.”

“Who are you girl?  You’ve got a gold cross that’d buy me a whore for a week.  And you flinch whenever I say ‘whore’.  But you aim a rifle like you know what you’re at.  And you live alone here.  And you’re god damn fierce like a Rhoynar squaw!”

“I’m no one.” She said simply, drinking again, feeling the booze slinking through her veins. Making her bold. Making her look at him boldly.  The scars were horrible.  But she was starting to see that he was not.  “Was she your woman too?”

He laughed darkly. “Oh, but you’re a lady, for certain. Gossipy and curious about who was lying with who, is that it? No, I didn’t have her after Gregor was dead and buried.  She was beautiful and she didn’t care about my scars neither.  But we weren’t like that.  We were like comrades in arms.  And Gregor was the fucking war!”

She let that cursing go too. This crude sinner intrigued her.  He was vicious when needed, that was certain.  But seeing him with the children, seeing how they looked up at him with wide open green eyes, it softened her to him. Although, part of that might have been the alcohol that he was refilling for her.

“Go to bed, Sandor.”

“Come with me, girl.”

She paused in bringing the cup to her mouth.

“Another woman might have slapped me for that.  But you’re considering it, god-botherer or not.” He laughed. “I aint pretty, but I seen you looking at me anyways.  Maybe I been amongst Rhoynar for too long, but there women can choose their mates. And I’m thinking you’re considering me.”

“How dare you!”

“I aint buying it, girl.  You took too long to stoke up that anger!”

He covered her hand over with his.  “There aint a lot of comfort in this fucking world, but I can show you some.  If you’ll share some with me too.”

She was about to open her mouth, not sure if she was about to accept or to forcefully decline, when a loud neighing interrupted them, the sound of hooves beating against the grasslands outside the small warm world of the kitchen.

“Fuck!” He bellowed, standing quickly and drawing his gun.

“Is that your horse?!”

“Yeah, smart beast.  He’s always got my back.  There’s men coming. Rangers most like. He’ll have smelt them approaching. Well, our bedding’s got to wait, girl.  I’ll draw them away from the ranch.  You stay with the children.”

She looked up at him, this dark stranger who had entered her life so abruptly.  And she could not bear to see him running away from her and it.

“Sandor?”

“Girl?”

“Please come back to me.”

He smiled darkly. “Pela, Sansa, pela.”

But then he was gone, running through the door, barely pausing to gather his hat before disappearing into the bright sunlight outside where the horse was waiting for him.  Sansa ran to the doorway, seeing him fling himself on the bare back of the great black beast.  Flaking white marks on its flanks looked like hand prints made in warpaint.  The hand prints of very small children. And then he was away, galloping between her white sheets, and off into the grasslands.

Sansa sagged against the doorway.  But then she knew what she had to do. She ran to the flagpole, praying all the way and then as she swiftly raised the plain white flag.  Please, Lord, she whispered, please let them see and let them come straight away.  Please, Lord, please, don’t take this sinner from me. Please, don’t take this sinner from me!

***

_Three days later…_

Sansa held her breath as the chimes rang out loud and clear across the small town. 

 Eight. Nine. Ten…

And then shots rang out instead.  The blood thirsty crowd forgot their desire for the spectacle and ran screaming to buildings and doorways.  Sansa stood stock still, trusting in their aim.

A shot clipped the arm of a deputy who was aiming wildly up at the roofs of nearby buildings. And then another buried itself into the wood of the scaffolding, severing the noose and letting it fall flapping down his back. 

And then she saw four of them on horseback charging into the main square of the towns, throwing up dust and grass with their horses hooves.  Bronn threw her a quick salute and she almost cursed. The old trickster was being an idiot! And she saw Marg, her face covered by a handkerchief, walloping him on his upper arm, before the four of them circled around to the scaffolding, Arya leaping from the back of her horse to pull Sandor towards it.  She leapt up behind him and then, as quickly as they had arrived, they were racing away from the town and out towards Hope’s Home. Towards Sansa’s ranch

Sansa could breathe again.  She knelt quickly, wiping tears from the children’s faces. “It’s going to be okay.  Pela, Chenoa.  Pela, Pallaton. Pela Salali.”

The children nodded, even little Salali.

“Let’s go home and see your arla, shall we?”

She picked up Salali and took the other twos’ hands and walked them towards the horse and cart they’d ridden in on.

***

As soon as they arrived back at the low building a large dark shape raced out and knelt on the dirt, wrapping up his children in his immense arms. The others came out then, standing about as he held them tight.

“Did we do good, sis?” Asked Arya.

“Very good.” Smiled Sansa.

“You’re not alone!” Sandor barked at her, standing up again.

“Not entirely, no. That’s my sister, Arya.  She killed a man who threatened to kill a friend of hers.  A man I was meant to be engaged to back in the city.  Can’t say I care much now I know more about him.  But we left and came here.  And that’s Gendry.” She gestured at the large young man with the immense arm muscles. “He hasn’t broken any laws as far as I know.  He used to be a blacksmith until Arya met him on the way here and led him astray.”

“Hey!” Shouted Arya and Gendry blushed.

“And I’m Bronn, and I’ve broken plenty of laws.” Said the older man with the weather beaten face and the twinkling eyes. “And this goddess is Margaery.”

“I was working in a whorehouse - not by choice - when Bronn found me and got me away.  And we break laws together all the time!” Smirked the pretty brunette.  “And this is my brother Loras, the sharp shooter, and his… friend… Renly. Also pretty good with a long range shot. And there’s plenty would say that they’re breaking laws.  But I aint one of them.”  She glared at Sandor, making it clear that he couldn’t be one either.

“And Sansa, my sweet sister Sansa, the near enough nun, is the face of respectability for our little gang.”

“Arya!”

“She feeds us.  Patches us up.  Gets us supplies.  And from our cave high up on Hope’s Home, we watch over her. Make certain that she can live in peace.  She summoned us when they caught you.  Like she did when she found Bronn bleeding at the base of the mountains and Margaery crying her heart out.  Like she did when she found Loras and Renly on the run from a pack of cattle herders, when they'd been looking for Margaery. All the strays seem to cross her path eventually.” Arya looked intently at Sandor. “And if she summoned us to help you, then she must think you’re worth saving.”

Sandor looked at Sansa, puzzlement on his face turning to something like awe.

“You should go with them, Sandor.” She smiled at him.

Arya nodded, her long dark braid twisting behind her.  “It aint much of a life.  There’s no soft beds, and little privacy.  But you’ll be free. And only we know the way up and down from the cave.”

“The children…” He asked, something in his throat making the words come out thick.

“They’ll have to stay with me, Sandor.  It’s no life for a small child.  I’ll care for them, teach them at the school, and you can visit.  Whenever you want.”  She breathed out the words as he captured her eyes.  Then he nodded, before looking from her to each of the members of the gang, taking them in.  She wondered if he was comparing them to Gregor and his men.  If he was, then he would find them very different indeed. Yes, they were sinners, but they were good people. Like him.

“Promise me you won’t have them praying all the fucking time, Sansa. Promise me you’ll bring’em up to know their people and their ways!”

“We can do it together, Sandor.  Hope’s Home is not that far away.  Hope never is.”

He nodded, and she considered his dark eyes. And she imagined those fearsome grey eyes looking down on her small ranch house.  Keeping watch.  Waiting for the next time that she raised the flag to call them down from the mountains.  And she prayed that he might not wait until the flag went up.


End file.
